


The pathway to Hell is paved with good intentions.

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Descriptions of gore, Evil, Homicidal Thoughts About A Demon., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: "You're a murderer, Dean Winchester."





	The pathway to Hell is paved with good intentions.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something I've been mulling over for a while. Set in Season Seven when Meg 'Emanuel' and Dean go to rescue and heal Sammy in that insane asylum, whilst he fights Hallucifer. A little moment between Meg and Dean. And a premise I may want to explore more at a later date. Thank you jj1564 for the beta, as always, you own my everything :D

Dislike lacks the sharpness behind the emotion, not enough teeth.

Loathe comes close, but doesn’t express the violence bubbling inside.

Despise _sounds_ right, but doesn’t **taste** right rolling off the tip of his tongue.

Abhor.

Abhorrence.

Aberration - of nature.

Abomination - under God.

Abso-fucking-lutely revolting.

Revulsion.

There it is.

The _only_ word in the English language that adequately describes how and what Dean Winchester feels whenever Meg Masters comes sloping seeping and slithering back into their lives, and yet, this time, he needs her.

If he could reach out and rip her smug fucking face off with his bare fucking hands, he would.

Just flick his wrist and bury his chipped fingernails inside her inky black eye sockets, and pull, and keep pulling until everything that was inside is laid bare outside; dribbling down her chest and into the gravel at her feet.

But Dean _needs_ Meg. Not just to keep an eye on _Emanuel_ , but to help him find a way past the hordes of Demons guarding his batshit crazy brother.

And because he needs her, he has to fucking listen to her. That obsequious voice dripping sarcasm and sexual innuendo as she gets all up in his personal space, risking him either vomiting on her or sinking his teeth into her upturned cheek as she smirks and rolls her eyes.

“I mean, Dean, I know I’ve done some hinky shit over the years. Hello - Demon, but you, you went above and beyond in the whole screwed up stakes.”

Dean grinds his teeth to stop from reaching out and snapping her in two. “Meg, shut up.”

The breathy laugh Meg allows to ghost across Dean’s neck as she tilts her head and flutters her eyelashes at him, makes him want to peel his own skin off.

“Seriously? You’re gonna try and tell me that everything you’ve done in the name of saving poor wee Sammy the slightly crazy man-mountain, has been on the up and up?”

Deans swallows down the urge to start hacking and slashing at the _woman_ standing almost in the frame of his arms, and blows out a breath. “What?”

“For one hot minute we can ignore the fact that you sold your own soul, or that you have a serious serial killer instinct when it comes to anyone laying a hand on Sammy in any other way than gently, but - oh - this is perfect - you hadn’t even thought about it, had you?”

Meg stumbles out of Dean’s personal bubble as she heaves for breath and grips the tops of her thighs, laughing maniacally. “You, you, oh my Lucifer!”

Dean rolls his shoulders and shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from wringing her scrawny neck. “What, I haven’t thought about _what_?”

“You’re a murderer, Dean Winchester.”

Even though Dean’s been thinking of himself like that for more years than he’s willing to admit out loud, hearing Meg say it so matter of factly makes his skin crawl, brings up all the hairs on his arms, and he has to repress a violent shudder. “Hunters aren’t murderers, Meg. They’re heroes.”

Meg shakes her head and raises an eyebrow at Dean.

“No, sweetcheeks. Not the Hunter thing, although, I’d say you’re as far removed from a hero as any human being could get. No, dearest Dean, I’m talking about your brother. That sweet bats in the belfry mess who’s holed up five hundred feet away, trying to dig Lucifer out of his head.”

“I - what - I never - “

Meg straightens her shoulders and pins Dean with her most impressive ‘come fuck me, big boy’ look, before pressing herself against his chest. “Dean, honey, you took a shredded and tattered soul, and shoved it so far down your brother’s throat that you killed the person inhabiting his head.”

“That wasn’t a person, and it fucking well wasn’t my brother. My brother was - “

Meg stumbles away from Dean, and where there was moments ago malicious joy at Dean’s revulsion plastered all over her face, there’s now a look of utter pity resting behind her eyes, and Dean feels his stomach sink into his boots. “He wasn’t, that wasn’t - “

“Oh dear, you honestly didn’t know, did you?”

Dean’s trying not to make eye contact with the Demon now looking like she genuinely feels sorry for him, but he can’t help asking. “Know what?”

“That was Sam. Not the Sam you know, or love, or lust after when you think no one’s looking, but it _was_ Sam. That was the part of him which kept him walking and talking after sweet gentle Jessica got toasted on the ceiling of his apartment. It was the slither of _something_ inside him that forced him to shoot Jake in the head, because he knew you wouldn’t be able to. It was the piece of him that bridges the gap between his puppy dog impression and his homicidal maniac tendencies. Balance in all things, Winchester.”

Meg's words wash over Dean and he finds himself frozen, unable to answer, unable to look away from the truth of them.

“Dean Winchester, you are a murderer. Let’s just hope what you killed that day isn’t the reason Sammy’s desperately trying to ignore an all singing, all dancing version of my Lord Lucifer, wishing he could blow his own brains out.”

Dean doesn’t have time to curl into a ball and vomit up everything he’s ever eaten because a plume of black smoke descends and all hell breaks loose, but for the briefest moment he can _feel_ how true Meg’s words are as they rattle around inside his head. “I never meant to - “

“Bravo champ, bravo.”

Fin.


End file.
